It is 10.30am on a Sunday morning and 29-year-old S Santhosh is polishing off a plate of mutton biryani at Bangaru, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Dindigul, popularly known as the ‘10am biryani place’. Located on the busy Big Bazaar Street, it is among the oldest biryani outlets in the city. Set in the owner’s home, the modest space has just a handful of tables, and opens at 6am, selling out before 11am.
Biryani for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In Dindigul, there are people who eat this dish every day of their lives. How did this small town in Tamil Nadu, become synonymous with the decadent rice-based dish? We biryani-hop on a hot summer day, looking for answers.
Elevated taste
“Dindigul biryani is defined by the fine, short-grained seeraga samba rice. The water we use — from Athoor Kamarajar dam — is sweet owing to it originating from the surrounding hills,” says 36-year-old R Nagendran, the third-generation owner from the Ponram family. “This lends the biryani a unique flavour.”
The chain has five branches in the city and was started in 1973 by V Ponram and his wife P Muthammal, who hand-pound the spices.
When we try it, we notice that like other Dindigul biryanis, Ponram’s is dark brown and mild. The fragrance of seeraga samba rice hits us first. What follows is the flavour of cinnamon; the mutton melts in the mouth and there are no annoying pieces of stray cardamom or cloves to interrupt the experience. Even the green chillies we encounter are cooked such that they almost dissolve.
Nagendran and 24-year-old S Maniram, the great grandson of Ponram, show us the gigantic cauldrons in which the biryani is made in their kitchen. “This is called a ‘vatta’ locally and we use aluminium for uniform heat distribution,” he explains.
The biryani at Thalappakatti’s, a branch of which is located right opposite Ponram Food Square on the highway (NH7), tastes a bit different. With 100 branches in India and abroad, Thalappakatti was started in 1957 by Nagasamy Naidu in a 2 X 2 room that could seat eight people. It serves the same kind of biryani. However, connoisseurs who swear by their biryani can easily tell the difference. Apart from the water, R Ravi, the CEO at Thalappakatti says that the meat they use lends a special touch to their signature dish. “We source our meat from free-range goats that graze the surrounding hills,” he explains.
Thalappakatti can be credited with taking Dindigul biryani to other parts of India and the world.
Venu Biryani, another popular brand, has a branch in the heart of the city serving biryani filled in small enamel cups that are tipped onto waiting plantain leaves.
A rooted delicacy
Dindigul biryani’s popularity can be attributed to the town’s location, according to Nagendran. “Tourists visiting Kodaikanal would usually stop here for lunch before heading to the hills or after driving down,” he says. “People driving down South always pass by the district, further spreading the good word on our biryani.”
But why has the town chosen this dish as its indicator? The answer lies in a narrow street in Begampur. We walk into a brown building with soot-covered walls in the neighbourhood. “We’ve run out,” says a man seated by the counter, adding with a chuckle: “I know it’s not even 11am; but it’s a Sunday. What do you expect?” This is Perumal Naidu Biryani Hotel, where the original Dindigul biryani was born.
“I don’t have the exact year in which we started, but from what my ancestors told me, we are over 200 years old,” says 50-year-old T Nandhagopal, the fourth-generation owner. His great grandfather G Perumal Naidu first sold the milagu kuzhambu (pepper gravy), his own concoction made of mutton, coconut milk, pepper, and other spices. “He then progressed to selling biryani since this neighbourhood is home to several Muslim families, hoping they will take to it.”
The tender meat along with flavoured rice became an instant hit, so much so that other people started selling biryani too, based on Perumal’s recipe, which he fashioned out of local ingredients. Bangaru came next, started in 1931 by Bangarusamy Naidu, followed by Venu, Thalappakatti, and Ponram. Most of these outlets send biryani parcels on trains and flights to customers thousands of kilometres away. Ponram, for instance, has special igloo boxes for long-distance delivery. Nandhagopal sends to customers in Chennai three days a week on the Vaigai Express.
Nandhagopal, who is vegetarian, much like the founder himself, prefers to remain lowkey. He is happy with his cosy place with a handful of tables and regular customers who stay on to chat long after the dosa tawa has cooled down. He finally offers us a plate he has saved: the seeraga samba rice is slightly bigger; it retains the defining brown colour, the sweet smell of ghee, and the hit of spices. “Each of our offerings is different, although they look similar,” he says, speaking about the various brands. “But our biryani is not the same if made outside of the town. It’s biryani alright, but not Dindigul biryani.”
